remembering sunday, he falls to his knees
by wildcurlgirl
Summary: Not leaving is Gavroche's interpretation of being loved. ANGST WARNING. Based off of All Time Low's "Remembering Sunday." E/E, Modern AU, One shot.


**I apologize in advance for this hastily-written angst. **

He wakes up smelling like Vodka. It's two am (tons of all-nighters make for an uncanny internal clock), and he rolls over to find Combeferre on one side and Grantaire on the other. Reassured by the fact he is still clothed, he walks to the kitchen for a cup of coffee. Carefully, as not to disturb the other two boys, he into the living room, where every couch is taken by an amis, Marius and Cosette's annoyingly adorable bodies curled around one another's. Sighing heavily, he walks to the kitchen to find Musichetta sitting on the counter, eyes glassed over. The surprising thing? She's sober. In fact, the only thing smelling of alcohol is him. And then, like a ton of bullets to his chest, it hits him.

_Sunday._

He hears his own breath hitch, and Musichetta's arms open. Diving into them like a lost little boy, she strokes his hair as he remembers.

_Gunshots. Gavroche's screams. Blood. _Her_ blood._

He's crying now, and Musichetta's shushing him gently, rocking him back and forth.

"I know it hurts, sweetheart. It's okay. It's okay." She coos, holding it all together because it's all she knows to do. Among their group of friends, Combeferre is the father, and Musichetta is the mother. Every scrape, heartbreak, jokes that aren't funny; Musichetta is the one to make sure they're okay. Slowing his breath, he stands from her embrace.

His posture is broken; his shoulders slumped forward in defeat.

He is broken.

"We fought. She always stayed here, with me. We fought and she tried to go home to her parents."

"Enjolras, honey, it was the wrong place, the wrong time-"

"_She was pregnant, dammit 'Chetta!_ We fought because she thought I was upset, but I swear to God I was happy. We were supposed to be a family! And now she's not here. She'll never be here, and-"

"Enjay?" Gavroche sleepily walks into the kitchen from his room, clutching Simba, his stuffed lion, tightly. "I had another nightmare." Tears roll down the little boy's cheeks, and Enjolras quickly scoop_s _him up into his arms, sitting him on the counter. "I want 'Ponine."

He kisses Gavroche's head, holding the boy to his chest. His tears begin to mix with the younger boy's, and soon Musichetta is wrapped around both of them, her own tears falling as well. The three of them stand together, broken in their own ways. Enjolras presses another kiss into Gavroche's brown curls as he reassures him. "I know, Gav. I miss her too. But you're going to be okay. We'll be okay, you and me, kiddo. I won't have it any other way." Gavroche clutches onto his night shirt tightly, his legs wrapping around his torso. Gently, he begins to rock the six year old as his tears slow. Nodding to Musichetta, he walks into his bedroom, _their _bedroom. Her slippers still sit at the foot of the bed; her robe hangs on the doorknob. He walks in to find Combeferre and Grantaire have moved to the floor, and he gently pulls the covers back, the little boy hanging on to him tightly. He manages to crawl in with the boy, and they nestle Simba between the two of them. "Gavroche? What was your dream about?" Gavroche shifts slightly so that his cheek is pressed to Enjolras's shoulder. Taking in a hitched breath, he begins and ends his story in one breath.

"It was about Sunday. I tried to get to her, I swear I did but Brujon shot her before I could. He shot her between the eyes and it killed her. And then I woke up and it wasn't a dream." Enjolras remembers Éponine's lifeless body lying on the street, her eyes still open. The bullet hole had gaped open right between her eyebrows, and her arms had been strewn about in a horrifying position.

"I'm sorry I didn't save her, Gavroche. I wanted to, I swear it. I fought with her, and now she's been taken away from you." He shifts so he's looking the boy in the eyes. "So much has been taken from you, and it isn't fair."

"Enjay? Don't leave." Not leaving is Gavroche's interpretation of being loved.

"Of course not, monkey." He uses Éponine's pet name for the gangly child. "It's you and me now; I won't let them hurt you anymore."

"I love you, Enjay." The boy's voice is muffled in his shirt.

"I love you too, Gav. So does Éponine. She's watching us as we speak." Going with the idea, he decides it could help. "Is there something you would like to say to her?"

Gavroche nods. "I miss you Eppie. I know it hasn't been long, but it hurts. I wish you hadn't left us. But we're going to be okay down here, because they arrested Thénardier, and now I get to stay with Enjay. He misses you too, but it's okay, I'll take care of him. So will 'Chetta, because she misses you too, and so does everybody else. I wish you hadn't left us, but you made sure everything would be okay for me. Say hello to Azelma for me. I love you, sissy." At this point, all Enjolras can do is watch the little boy speak at the ceiling to his sister. He feels the tears on his face as he pulls Gavroche into his chest. Gently, he rubs Gav's back as the little boy drifts back to sleep, his soft snores filling the room. Looking back to the ceiling, he kisses his finger and raises it to the sky.

"I'll take care of him, 'Ponine. We're going to be okay, I promise, darling. I love you so much. You take care of your sister and the baby, and one day, I'll be there with you. I miss you." He makes up his mind to let go of the sadness, keeping the joy of Éponine in his soul.

He's almost asleep, but he hears it nonetheless.

"_I'll wait for you here. I'm over you now; I'm at home in the clouds, towering over your head."_


End file.
